Welkin Weasels Drabble Series
by Laburnum Steelfang
Summary: Welkin Weasels, even though nobody here reads them but me. My entries for Drabbles100 on lj.
1. Snow

Prince Poynt has never liked the winter. The first time he saw snow, he toddled outside, fell snout-first into a snowdrift and nearly suffocated. Mother hauled his frozen little body indoors to sit by a warm fire, while Redfur and Sibiline laughed. Bad memories lingered. 

He sometimes wishes he hadn't managed to convince himself of eternal winter just to keep his fur white. But the stoat's summer coat is so _dull._ Sacrifices must be made. "Pride must be pinched," as Mother always said.

Poynt draws closer to the blazing fire, and wonders why his pelt and robe drip with sweat.


	2. Queen

Queen Varicose was only five when her father died.

She remembers weeping, her uncle trying to comfort her in that stiff way of his, being unused to speaking to crying little girls. Soon after, she was crowned as Queen.

Her uncle runs the country, as nobody could expect a child to understand politics. She is hidden, a secret, ruler in name only.

She overhears diplomatic conversations sometimes. They are incomprehensible to her, and she wonders how she will ever learn how to hold these discussions herself.

It is true what they say; "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown."


	3. Eccentricity

"Jeremy Poynt!" 

The ermine mayor of Muggidrear turned away from the front door to see his sister scowling and tapping her paw.

"What is it this time, Sybil?" he groaned. He was the Lord Mayor, he told himself, the most important creature in Welkin after the royal family. He should _not_ be henpecked by his sister.

"Jeremy, you simply cannot go out like that!" Sybil gestured at her brother's hindpaws. "Wearing spats without shoes indeed. It's silly.What _will_ people think?"

Poynt drew himself up and puffed out his chest.

"Sybil, I have money. I'm allowed to be mildly eccentric."


	4. White

"Er ... Icham, do I want to know what you're doing?"

Icham paused in his activity and looked at Sylver.

"Well, Poynt banned the white winter pelt on anyone except himself. Wants to feel he's special. As an outlaw, I feel it's my duty to break laws I consider ridiculous. Sadly I was hindered somewhat by the fact that weasels don't turn white naturally."

Sylver stared at Icham, who had resumed smearing the white powder over himself, and held his nose.

"I suppose I can understand that, but couldn't you use chalk or something? Bird droppings are ... rather antisocial."


	5. Green

For Tigerlilyandhummingbird. It's not _obviously_ Sylver/Bryony, but it's close. Hope you like it. I will do requests, but don't expect me to do them quickly.

* * *

"Greens again, Bryony?"

Dredless grinned and dug into the stew. Bryony's hackles rose briefly.

"How can you live on that stuff?" asked Miniver, wiping meat juice from her chin.

"How can _you_ eat other creatures' flesh?" Bryony snapped back. She looked pleadingly at Sylver, who wrinkled his nose. He glanced from the unappetizing green mush to the bubbling stewpot and back to Bryony's face, and sighed.

"Icham, you can have my stew," he said, passing the bowl over. "Pass the rabbit food, Bryony."

Sylver took the proffered vegetation and chewed stubbornly. Bryony smiled gratefully.

_Maybe it's worth it,_ he thought.


	6. Red

He rinsed his paws and face, wiped his body with a wet cloth, and dropped the cloth in the basin. The water was tinted red. 

He slipped into his red silk robe. It gleamed and flowed around him like a waterfall of blood.

He entered the chapel. The sun was setting, painting golden streaks across the floor, across his face. He glanced out of the window, smiled as he saw the scarlet shade of the sky. The cross gleamed crimson.

Torca Marda stood in the chapel, clad in red, beneath a red sky, surrounded by the hue of his profession.

* * *

_(Note: if anyone reading this has any character/scene requests, send 'em in. Seriously, I need inspiration.)_


	7. Blue

Warning for very slight m/m - hey, this is me, you knew it was going to come up. Can be ignored if you want. Yeah, these two had kids post-canon, but that doesn't stop the Harry Potter slashers. If the person who told me he knows Mr Kilworth personally sees this, please don't tell him! Heehee.

* * *

The endless blue got to you quickly. Sea and sky, sprinkled with white foam or clouds, blurred together. The sun blazed down and bounced up in sharp glints, burning your eyes either way.

"Once we're home, I never even want to see a puddle again," Mawk groaned. "Can you get enough water from eating lettuce?"

Scirf chuckled. "Don'tcher hate lettuce? It's not _so_ bad 'ere. Pretty colours."

Mawk sighed, started to speak, but paused.

Scirf's eyes were reflecting the blue, laughter-lined, merry as always, bright in his salt-crusted face.

"Maybe," Mawk muttered, blushing and staring at the deck.


	8. Brown

Some phrases stolen from "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat".

* * *

There was no crash of drums or flash of light when it happened. As he knelt before the human king and queen, all he felt was a shiver in his fur - the remnants of some old magics starting to drain from Welkin with the homecoming of its lords, he guessed. When he opened his eyes, his ermine coat had flown from sight, and he stood before the monarchs in his summer pelt.

Thinner and slightly coarser than his plush ermine fur, oddly itchy after so long without it. And plain brown; dull as mud.

Actually, he felt a lot better.


	9. Games

Scruff's paw slapped down on the card as Maudlin laid it on the pile. "Snap! You forfeit this round!"

Maudlin groaned. "Do I have to?"

"You knows the rules, Maud," Scruff said, grinning broadly.

Maudlin sighed heavily, took off his hat, and placed it on top of his neatly folded jacket. "I guess I lose, then."

Scruff, also wearing only his hat, looked over the table at the now completely unclothed Maudlin.

"Short game, eh?"

"Yes ..." Maudlin scratched his fur and looked confused. "Somehow this doesn't really seem like as much fun as that human fellow made it sound."


	10. Diamond

"I'd have been proud to be you, if it was me," said Scruff. Maudlin smiled weakly and looked down at his costume. Harlequin, he was, in the diamond-patterned suit. And a fine clown he'd made of himself, too.

"Why?" he asked. "I'm just an ordinary, plain, boring weasel."

"Nah! Diamond in the rough, you are. Like me," said Scruff, grinning. "But now I think about it, I wouldn't want to be you."

Maudlin was hurt until Scruff continued.

"If I _was_ you, then I couldn't be friends with you, could I?"

Maudlin's eyes watered and he hugged Scruff tightly.


	11. Enemies

The week he found Jott had left for the New World, Fugit didn t sleep. He d been praying for the stoat to be gone since their rivalry began, and yet now it had happened he wished it hadn t. Bored and lonely, he worked ever harder, snapping at his assistants over the smallest thing, but inventing lost its fun with nobody to outdo. More than once he had to mop tears out of a device as he built it.

When Jott stepped back off the boat in Muggidrear, Fugit was waiting to greet him with both an angry tirade and a hug. 


End file.
